Welcome to the fourth article in this series where we’re dissecting the multifarious entity of Digital Humanities (DH). To understand the context and scope of this series, and to consider the research questions upon which the investigation is based, please view the previous articles here, here and here. We’ll also be referring to my online survey Hands Up for Digital Humanities – the quantitative input to this series.

The Loft, a modern event space on Plymouth’s Barbican – we’ve been here before, in article one. Back then, I was late, sneaking in at the back. This time I’m early and I’ve got my own chair – it’s one of those up on the stage. Alongside the other speakers – both male – talking about architectural visualisation and start-up investment, I’m here to discuss Creative Writing. At a digital technology event. Talk about odd-one-out.

It’s just over a year since my first Digital Plymouth meet-up in June 2018. Two months later I had been made one of the organisation’s team members – they were looking to add an exotic perspective, an outside angle to the board, and as a Creative Writing lecturer, I apparently fit the bill. Fast-forward to November 2019 and here I am, giving a talk of my own…

Immediate success story, right? To some extent, but for someone who constantly battles imposter syndrome, succeeding this far away from home comes at a price.  

Initially identified in the 70’s, imposter syndrome is a disabling affliction with connections to depression and anxiety disorders. It is common in academic and educational settings and typically affects more women than men due to the impact of gender stereotypes.

As Gina Gibson-Beverly and Jonathan P. Schwartz note: such individuals “are unable to view accomplishments as a result of their own competence but instead attribute them to external factors, such as luck and chance. Characteristics include an inability to internalise positive feedback, fear of evaluation and failure, guilt about success, and underestimating oneself while overestimating others.”

Cheery stuff.

So why would someone with a permanent need for the periphery enter an unknown field voluntarily, to the extent of becoming embroiled at a decision-making level? And why discuss such difficulties publicly? What am I doing?

For the longest time, I couldn’t tell you. But since entering the digital world I realised that my eclectic interests (not piecemeal passions, as the imposter in me likes to taunt) are never going to neatly align. Disclosing mental health conditions for staff in academia is still a taboo issue, and I was recently told by a successful entrepreneur that admitting such things in the business world is tantamount to professional suicide. But I sense I can’t be the only one who feels like this – and if I’m already bucking the trend by just being here, I might as well be honest about how hard it is and why.

The digital arena is comprised of collaboration, Digital Humanities exists at the intersection of art and science, whilst digital writing depends on a holistic approach to a variety of methods. So to hell with it. It might feel irrelevant and like no-one will be interested in my talk – bringing an unknown topic into an established arena – but there are always overlaps to be found if we just communicate, right? From ballet to kickboxing, I’ve been going off-piste my entire life. Time to own it.

And that’s what I’m doing, or pretending to at least.

Psychologically, I’m already there. Ethos-wise, thanks to the incredible feminist and queer theorist Gloria Anzaldūa, I’ve always advocated existing in the borders. And the pragmatist in me has found Amy Cuddy’s power poses reliably effective – ‘fake it till you become it’.

So, feeling inept bringing new ideas into an established space? Check. Convinced that no-one will be interested? Check. Feeling less relevant than the other speakers? Check. Fears have taken up residence and we’re doing it anyway. 

Soon the attendees start drifting in  – more than I’d prefer – lining up at the bar and taking their seats. Happily, my talk comes in the middle (but don’t worry, my chair is on the edge ready for emergency escape): ‘Rise Up for Digital Writing (feat.) The Reciprocity Circle’. The…what circle? Thanks to Byte the Book this was a great success. More later.

When my time comes, I launch straight in. First, Digital Humanities. I present the alien term to a blur of blank faces. Reference the DH Lab at Exeter University. Take them through the DH survey I set-up in 2018; aims, intentions and findings. ‘Interdisciplinary collaboration’ is the primary concern for respondents when thinking about improvements to DH provision. An initiative that relies on individuals not only ambling about the periphery, but traversing it entirely; something that gets a lot of air-time in Higher Education, but struggles to translate in practice, especially across STEM and non-STEM subject areas. Still, it’s desirable, if not easily achievable. Another validating reason for me to be here, combatting fears, speaking.

Innovations across digital Creative Writing all rely on an interdisciplinary ethos. I take my brightening crowd through some examples. The Byte the Book network, previously mentioned, is a great starting point for anyone traversing the crossovers of writing and all-things digital, in particular their event on 7 February – the aptly titled ‘Confluence’ – which brings together writers, technologists, and the wider publishing industry to discuss how technology is changing the way we make and consume stories.

Beyond networking, there are exciting developments in creative practice, from student projects to storytelling apps. And here’s where I get to my favourite slide in the talk (cue proud-teacher moment) – ‘Vessel 4012’ by Callum Hendley, one of my third-year Creative Writing students. A digital narrative created through the reassuringly accessible gennarrator.org. It’s as if the audience can sense my delight, as I detect some definite smiles and even the patter of understanding laughter.

I start to relax – it’s going great! Oh wait, what’s this?

***HTTP 404, 404 Not Found, 404, Page Not Found, Server Not Found***

The error message that all lecturers dread. It had come for me, here, in front of all these people. The links so meticulously tested beforehand are. Not. Working. 

Luckily it’s not my first rodeo. I’m already pretending, so I can keep going. I can laugh it off… And I do. I hear myself recover, the words keep coming, and I describe rather than demonstrate the remaining examples. Thankfully the content is impressive enough to carry itself.

Simulacra by Kaigan Games, a ‘realistic “found phone” horror game that takes place entirely on the screen of a mobile phone. A voyeuristic experience that combines point and click adventure games, found footage videos and fully realised phone apps.’

Lotus created by Dutch writer Niels ‘t Hooft. A ‘meditative story app’ enriched with sound, colour and animations; ‘put on your headphones, shut yourself off from your surroundings, and float away into a new kind of narrative experience.’ Hooft, a Writing Platform contributor, recounts his journey here.

A Picture of Wind by digital poet and Plymouth-based writer JR Carpenter. Written as a response to the 2014 storms which hit the Southwest of the UK, it uses live weather data to inform specific word-choice, and as such is different every time you view.

And here we are, I’ve made it! We’ve reached the final slide, and this returns us to the aforementioned ‘Reciprocity Circle’. My talk has been smoothly situated before the break, so I can lead the audience into the exercise, with the promise of beer refills soon to follow. 

I take them through some rules and background:

First, it’s a practical exercise that involves everyone getting up off their seats – considering their imminent visit to the bathroom or bar, this is not a problem. Second, it’s incredibly simple: everyone takes a post-it note and writes down one thing they need help with and one thing they can offer help with. This can be closely related to their creative work or the digital realm, or as far away as gardening or house-moving. 

This “need / offer” dichotomy means everyone gives something and everyone gets something. Whilst it is unlikely that everyone will have their needs met upon the first encounter, the process engenders a reciprocal culture that is informal, compassionate and interdependent. Even if no-one can help directly, there is always someone who knows someone else who is working on a project and looking for someone who can.

It is an effective, encouraging, high-energy activity that gets people talking. Even the more anxious types. It makes independent or passion project more visible. It builds interdisciplinary, cross-subject, and multi-faceted connections. It highlights where similar work might be occurring and helps to form partnerships.

And all you need are people, post-it notes and a wall for browsing.

I learned about the ‘Reciprocity Circle’ at Byte the Book’s Confluence last year, however, it originally comes from Adam Grant’s 2013 book Give and Take. For something that looks like one of those infuriatingly positive ‘self-help’ type books, it’s decidedly not one of those books. Grant talks about how there are ‘givers, takers and matchers’, people who, in social situations, tend to either give more, take more, or match other people up. Whilst there might be some truth that some ‘givers’ are often ‘doormats’, ultimately it is this group who occupies both the bottom and top of the success ladder.

And so the Reciprocity Circle, whilst designed to spark conversations amongst strangers, it encourages participants to become ‘givers’ in the complete sense – giving something to others, but more crucially, giving to ourselves by accepting help from others in return. As Grant says: “The givers who excel are willing to ask for help when need it. Successful givers are every bit as ambitious as takers and matchers. They simply have a different way of pursuing their goals.”

As I relay all this to my audience, most poke uncertainly at the piles of post-its in front of them, but a brave few are already grabbing pens and scribbling away. 

Initial nerves aside, it turns out to be a great success of the night, with conversations and connections continuing throughout the evening. Since my talk takes the audience into a break, they gladly refuel at the bar, and participate and peruse the give/take wall with interest. For me the effort doesn’t stop with my talk. Whilst I was relieved of the stage, I feel a responsibility to the exercise, and so take up a comfortable post lingering on the periphery.

My most insightful conversation involves a Games’ Design lecturer from Plymouth University who attended with a group of students. He describes how reluctant the students were – what could possibly interest them in a Creative Writing talk? But just as I had anticipated a lack of interest, the lecturer anticipated crossovers, and thankfully he was right.

It seems the digital arena coaxes out the commonalities between us. In addition to the Games’ Design conversation, I received two further invitations to speak, along with a referral to work with a technologist on an AI project… Exciting stuff! After all that nervous nausea, elevated breathing, hands sweating and shaking, it was definitely worth it. 

I might still feel like an imposter, but at least now I’m in imposter with a purpose. Just goes to show, despite reservations and fears, it definitely pays to go off-piste. And next time, maybe I’ll feel a little bit more like I belong.

Welcome to the third article in this series where we’re dissecting the multifarious entity of Digital Humanities (DH). To understand the context and scope of this series, and to consider the research questions upon which the investigation is based, please view the previous articles here and here. We’ll also be referring to my online survey Hands Up for Digital Humanities – the quantitative input to this series.

I never felt at home in our science lab tutor room at secondary school; there was always a trace of trespassing and intimidation. This shroud would settle even before I reached the room, perhaps starting on the walk over to the science block and intensifying upon entry to the clinical building. The squeaky floors amplified my trepidation. It wasn’t that I was bad at science, or even that I was avoiding adversaries – although a friend and I were once accosted by a troubled girl with a scalpel – so what was it about that environment that made me uneasy?

My A-Levels were in English Literature, Theatre Studies and Biology. I took Chemistry too, lasted about a month before collapsing under the cerebral strain. For some reason, Biology was more manageable but still a constant struggle, and that was my last official contact with science.

At post-16 college I hung around with loud, dramatic types; the ones making too much noise in the canteen or playing grunge music in the courtyard. We’d see the non-arty types around, but we weren’t actually friends with any.

Then at university we were grouped according to subject, beyond lessons, I mean. My neighbours in Halls were all arty like me. I don’t remember meeting a single person outside of English and drama, maybe one doing journalism, or dance. Were our circles so narrow? Or, if it’s natural for like-minded people to gravitate, perhaps infrastructure has merely grown to accommodate this?

Nevertheless, the problem remains; ‘like-minded’ is not limited to discipline, so what would happen if we defy the academic order and reimagine our affiliations across less conventional lines?

Back in my favourite coffee spot, the afternoon clientele is starting to thin out. The sun is spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, keeping me and my beverage warm as I browse idly on my phone, waiting for my next instalment of tech expertise to arrive. Texpertise.

Tony Edwards is a software developer, event organiser and education outreach coordinator for Software Cornwall. Tony has a fascinating and unique penchant for rap, and has managed to harness this knowledge in an illuminating talk exploring the potential benefits of voice recognition software.

Tony Edwards

Soon, Tony arrives with his neat ponytail and a smile etched in neat stubble, and we start talking about digital learning. We came across the term ‘silos’ in Article 2 when used in reference to working environments, however Tony is applying it to the accessibility of technology:

“Like we were saying earlier on, silos, we’re siloed in by our technology and our acronyms and the ways we speak about projects, and overcoming that is difficult. And that’s possibly one of our biases that we need to recognise.”

I find it encouraging to hear someone openly acknowledging the existence of silos and discussing the resultant shortcomings that affect their discipline and practice. Identifying bias, identifying how we might be unintentionally isolating ourselves, our subject areas or potential newcomers, is surely one of the most important actions we can take in bridging gaps.

Actually doing this is no easy feat and for an articulate take on unintentional bias, see this excellent 2017 article in ‘The Atlantic’. Adversity, however, should never become an excuse for inaction. At the very least, developing related qualities such as self-awareness, openness to critique, and vigilance against selectivity, would be useful, and academics would undoubtedly benefit from refreshing their best practice with this in mind.

I want to know what else Tony thinks about transgressing the learning divide. “In a perfect world,” I ask, “how would you bring together the tech and non-techs?”

“I’d do it immediately,” Tony replies, the urgency and passion clear in his voice. “At school, education level. One of the people I mentor is in Year 11. She was gonna go and do a career in journalism, and after we ran a couple of workshops she’s changed her career path to be more digitally focused, but to bring that journalistic interest in. She’s now looking at how she can script conversations and story-lines in games… That’s a growing industry, that’s gonna completely change games.”

I have to agree here. If we highlight the digital career prospects available to young people interested in non-STEM subjects, perhaps we could prevent the tech/non-tech divide from occurring in the first place. If school-leavers entering Higher Education to study journalism, English, creative writing, or other Humanities subjects, do so with an integrated understanding of how digital mediums can enhance their practice – rather than an aversion to or ignorance of all-things-digital – might siloing in academia be reduced?

Tony explains more about the drive towards such streamlining.

“There’s a big movement at the moment,” he says across the table, coffee in hand. “You know what STEM is obviously. There’s a movement to turn it into STEAM, add the Arts in there. Because Arts and Science were inseparable at one point, you didn’t have one without the other because they’re creative. If you’re exploring something, whether it’s an artistic project like writing a book or trying to create a new medicine, you’re exploring.”

Considering Software Cornwall’s mission is to “promote and support software growth and excellence,” this interest in the Arts and the Humanities comes as a welcome revelation for me.

Software Cornwall

So I ask: “From your point of view, how would it be to receive an email out of the blue saying, I’m a writer, I’m interested in working with you?”

“Over the moon,” says Tony, grinning. “When I was writing my game at university, if someone had emailed me and said ‘I’ll come and help with that element you know nothing about,’ I would have been over the moon. Software and techies are very collaborative, but not necessarily good at communicating that fact, outside of our bubble. And we don’t put ourselves in environments where this kind of thing can happen. You don’t hang out with creative writers necessarily, and without that it’s hard to get collaborations to happen.”

But Tony and his colleagues are making this happen. Through the programme Game Changer, Software Cornwall, in partnership with RIO (Real Ideas Organisation) and Cornwall College, are supporting young people at risk of becoming NEET (not in education, employment or training) by running a workshop series called Mission to Mars. Tony explains:

“[Mission to Mars] came about because it was difficult to find businesses to provide work experience for the late school / early college age groups. They might not have the skills to contribute to a real-world project, but they’ve got the interest and the passion and that’s the direction they’re heading in. So, we created this concept where they form start-up teams and complete a set of challenges using a robot.”

But in order to make it a success, the team has had to reach beyond a technological scope:

“The challenges are designed for people who are not techy. You need to have a bit of interest, but we’ve had non-developers turn up and they were on the winning team and made the biggest contribution. Sometimes not being techy is the biggest advantage, you don’t overthink the problem. You just want to get it working and move on.”

This format has been so successful that, when adapting Mission to Mars from an educational tool to team building for businesses, the team retained the non-techy elements:

“We had people who weren’t necessarily coders, didn’t want to be, so we added a marketing element – you need to write a pitch to get extra investment – to encourage those people, because not everyone has got the right way of thinking to be a software developer, and that shouldn’t stop people from being involved in the software industry. The best people to market software are non software developers.”

I find this collaboration incredibly exciting. What better way to connect techs/non-techs than through interactive team-building that relies on both sets of skills for success? This is an encouraging example of how we are moving away from the Arts vs. Science narrative, and anything that unites the two can only be a good thing, right?

Turning STEM into STEAM makes a memorable buzzword, and certainly seems to give visibility to the relevance of the Arts within the Science arena.

Richard Lachman, in an article published January this year, highlights how the Arts and Humanities could benefit the Sciences, namely in their intersections with ethics, empathy and citizenship. The key issue for Lachman seems to be that “the rapid prototyping tools and production pipelines of the modern era have let us scale these new inventions faster than ever before.”

Such speed, Lachman argues, has not only led to a disconnection between what is being produced in the lab and the priorities of the end-users, but has also left a moral deficit in the outlooks of STEM graduates.

To address this deficit, Lachman encourages the wider STEM field to engage with the “abstract ideas of rights, values and meaning – core elements in our study of the humanities,” envisaging this amalgamation to yield successes akin to the emergence of medical ethics and bioethics.

I find it exciting to read of how the Humanities’ ethos is applicable to the Sciences, and there has been a significant increase in STEAM-based engagement for schools, as the UK non-profit organisation Steam Co would attest. Nevertheless, as this initiative is science-led, the arts are framed as an addition-to, rather than a partner-in, and this does raise concerns. It also seems a little short-sighted to assume that ethical enlightenment is the extent of the Arts and Humanities / STEM overlap.

In their March article, Martin Willis and others come to the same conclusion. In response to Lachman, they argue that the “humanities are reduced to a service role where they work under the direction of the sciences. Rather than producing knowledge of their own, they exist merely to make the sciences seem more human.” The STEM field – and its morally devoid graduates – are also receiving a disservice.

On the contrary, Willis showcases examples of existing collaborations and partnerships between the Arts and Sciences that exhibit a reciprocal nature where the “focus is precisely on how science and culture are intertwined.”  

Despite the marketability – and damn catchiness – of turning ‘STEM into STEAM’, the Arts vs. Science divide cannot be transgressed by merely amending an acronym. The silos are still there underneath.

Interestingly, this idea of over-simplification corresponds to a common theme emerging from my DH survey. The pertinent question here is 7.2: Can you think of any fears or barriers that might emerge as a result of an increased focus on Digital Humanities?

With an open textbox the answers are various, but the issue most frequently referenced by respondents is that increased DH could lead to an over-simplification or compromising of the Humanities. Suggested fears and barriers include:

1. A distancing from traditional humanities, making it appear that computational humanities is the best form of humanities.
2. Some may have concerns regarding a move away from the materiality of books and traditional media.
3. Reluctance around letting DH replace core methodologies, e.g. close reading, critical theory.
4. Too much emphasis on DH could lead to students and scholars producing works just because they’re cool and not because they offer substantive information to a community.

This fear around being replaced or marginalised is as understandable as any sibling rivalry. And as real. Whether the compromising of ‘traditional’ Humanities’ values, or the impression that ‘digital’ is in some way less valuable, there is a tendency to consider DH as an addition to the Humanities, rather than an equal partner.

I think, just as the Arts/Science intersection has more substance than an acronym, the dynamic between DH and Humanities has more to offer than a simple either/or. I’m with this respondent: we should be “looking at theories around DH, and using our skills in the humanities, to question how DH everywhere changes how we see the world and do research.”

Welcome to the second article in this series where we’re dissecting the multifarious entity of Digital Humanities (DH). To understand the context and scope of this series, and to consider the research questions upon which the investigation is based, please view the first article here. We’ll also be referring to my online survey Hands Up for Digital Humanities – the quantitative input to this series.

Have you ever wandered through a school, college or university, and had the feeling that the walls and corridors are judging you? Their rigid architecture assessing whether or not you’ve been here before, whether you know where you’re going, whether you ‘belong’.

“The arts or the sciences?” the walls seem to ask, deliberately funnelling us this way and that. “You have to choose,” they say. “You can’t do both forever.”

And largely, we, the inhabitants, comply. So much so, that the walls and their destinations drift farther and farther apart…

The perceived divide between artists and scientists is nothing new. Indeed, as C.P. Snow declared in his 1956 epochal essay ‘The Two Cultures’; “Neither culture knows the virtues of the other; often it seems they deliberately do not want to know.” Are we really only connected through our own incongruity, or have we progressed from this position in sixty-two years?

Over the last four months, I have met some interesting people whose views and experiences are helping me interrogate this question. Let me introduce one of them now.

Boston Tea Party cafe. Plymouth’s historic Barbican. An open-plan loft-type room, high ceilings, cured floorboards, echoey but snug. I favour an upstairs booth – on the right, at the back.

I’m here to meet Garry Hunt. He was the host of the Digital Plymouth (DP) meet-up in June that I mentioned last article. Garry’s wide smile and humble manner immediately makes me feel at ease and I ask him about the DP origins.

Garry Hunt

“We’re three years in,” Garry says, taking a sip of coffee, “but it feels like we’re only just getting started. If any other meet-up in Plymouth got 120 people they’d be overjoyed, but whenever we have a Directors’ meeting, we feel we could easily be doing more. There are 5000 businesses in Plymouth. We’ve got less than 1% of who we could have…”

This earnest and ambitious attitude is reflected in Garry’s hat collection. In addition to his DP hat as one of five directors, Garry is a WordPress specialist and freelance digital designer with his main business DigLab. He also provides training and workshops through ExploreMesh, the sister organisation to Digital Plymouth, and he co-runs the brilliant BorrowDon’tBuy, a vast library of ‘things’ such as equipment and tools available for the public to borrow, free-of-charge. Garry also engages in superhero basketball and learns lessons from Taylor Swift. Check out his latest blog.

Borrow Don’t Buy

“I’ve got a lot invested in Digital Plymouth,” Garry continues. “I want it to do well and I really feel what we’re doing is good. It’s for everyone.”

“From what I’ve seen,” I say, “there’s seems to be capacity for someone from Humanities to come in and talk about their digital involvement.”

“We want talks that will educate, inform or entertain, or possibly all three. The Humanities stuff would be really interesting.”

“People underestimate the knowledge value of the Humanities,” I say, always unable to keep epistemology out of the conversation.

“Yes, but I think a lot of people do this work without realising it.”

“Absolutely,” I say, pleased to find common ground. “This is something I’m finding from my survey.”

It’s still early days with only 47 respondents so far, but we can appreciate some trends emerging already. Garry has highlighted a pertinent issue and Question 3.1 of the survey is relevant here. This question asks whether respondents had heard of Digital Humanities (DH) before engaging with the survey. Of the 15 who hadn’t heard of it, one third of these checked the option: “This is something I have already being ‘doing’ without hearing the term.”

How exciting is this?

If DH activity can still take place without being reliant on conscious application, it suggests that the ‘digital’ and the ‘humanities’ are naturally compatible entities. This bodes well for any creative writer cautiously crossing over into the technological realm.

“What about this,” Garry says, reaching for his phone. “This may be where my understanding of the Humanities might be entirely wrong,” he laughs, “but there’s a website called Below the Surface where they dredged a river in Amsterdam and catalogued it.”

He hands over his phone. “Careful with this website, you will lose hours to it.”

I start scrolling. There are pages and pages of mismatched treasures from across the ages – a tear gas grenade shell from 2000-05, a bilateral blade from 5300BC, fragments of pottery and pristine smoking pipes from the 1700s. Past-lives in high-resolution, all twinkling clean with colours like morning.

Below the Surface is an ideal example of DH in action. Especially the collaborative aspect with archaeologists, historians and engineers all working together. I wonder now if Gary has ever had direct contact with humanists or artists in his work.

“Yes, game writers.”

Ah, but game writers – whilst entirely appropriate to this research, and fascinating to me – are already in the door. So, instead I ask: “What would you say to creative writers who are interested in the whole digital world, but might feel it’s impenetrable?”

“I would say it’s definitely not. It’s a cliché but it’s true, we’re all very introverted, quiet, personal people, but if you come and talk to us and have a conversation, you’ll always find people who will want to tell you about what they do. It’s best to ask ‘what are you doing, how do you do it’. From a digital perspective, every time I hear about someone doing something a bit different, I always find it really interesting, even if I can’t do it. There’s so many ways that you can physically work together, it’s not the impenetrable force-field we may put up.”

“I think it’s partly about knowing what’s out there,” I say. “I just happened to come across the DP meet-up. I wouldn’t have found it if I hadn’t been specifically researching digital events in Plymouth.”

Finding that key individual or event is one challenge, mustering the courage to actually attend something or initiate a conversation – outside of your own comfort zone – is something else entirely.

Whether due to anxiety, reluctance or obliviousness, failing to venture outside our own group could be attributed to the ‘silo effect’.

Marit Dewhurst, in her chapter ‘Nurturing the Intersections of Arts and Non-arts Disciplines’ explains: “The ‘silo effect’, whereby researchers and faculty members are contained in silos based on their field of practice, limits opportunities for a positive discourse around the arts.” And it seems no corner of academia is exempt, as Holden Thorp and Buck Goldstein state in their 2010 article: “The silo mentality and viciousness of academic infighting in higher education are legendary.”

These silos could be the inevitable product of those judgemental walls and corridors; stagnating conurbations, cut off from their outdated, one-way traffic. If so, we need to start planning some serious roadworks.

I mention this issue of infrastructure to Garry: “There seems to be a general consensus from the tech people I’ve spoken to, that you’d like to have the input from the Humanities but there’s a lack of infrastructure for getting involved.”

“I don’t think it’s just a Humanities thing,” Garry says. “I think it’s a university thing, especially in Plymouth, possibly across all universities. Education prepares you for joining a workforce. Not for doing anything else with your qualifications. The way people work is going through a massive change. People need to take their skills and ask how they can use them in another way. There’s nothing that really prepares you for that.”

Interestingly, Garry didn’t go to university, and when we start chatting about his website-design training course, I wonder if this fact has contributed to his go-getting attitude.

“I’m a believer that you need to get people doing things,” Garry says. “You’ve got to physically do stuff. You don’t need to know how to do everything perfectly, you sometimes just need to know how to start. [The clients] always go away with something – we give them an actual website to build on the day, which they can go and carry on building.”

The connection between website design and the Humanities might not be instantly obvious, but there are plenty of Humanities-based businesses. Look at the tourism sector: information services, libraries, archives, and places like Literature Works, which is a registered charity and the regional literature development agency for southwest England. These are legitimate ideas for Humanists emerging from university with a graduate degree – anyone wanting to do something similar needs a website.

So how we can feed this into education? Should we incorporate business skills into every Humanities degree programme? And it’s not just skills or practice; what about products as well, both hardcopy and digital? Creative writing manifests not only in scripts, books and websites, but also in interactive online stories, apps using geolocation to personalise stories, pamphlets, zines and chapbooks. These are products that people have assembled and put out there. Why aren’t we teaching CW students to generate their own products? We not only need to develop more crossovers with industry, but with other disciplines in academia: visual art, illustration, graphic design and publishing.

The walls of schools and colleges and universities might still be judging us, but in this rendering at least, we can walk along the same corridors and occasionally end up in the same place. It’s time to set up our orange cones, don our hard hats and attempt some serious drilling.

There was nowhere to park. As if it wasn’t daunting enough to throw myself into the alien world of tech-heads and program-people, now I was late. I found the Loft – a boutique entertainment venue on Plymouth Sutton Harbour – and launched myself up the stairs, down a deserted corridor and towards the sound of confidence and mingling.    

Members of Digital Plymouth meet every quarter – three meet-ups and one conference per year – and they are, according to their website, a “diverse and talented community of digital businesses and organisations, sharing knowledge and celebrating achievements throughout the South West digital industry.” Each meet-up has three speakers, and once I’d traversed the deserted corridor and heaved open the creaking door, I faced a frowning crowd listening to the talk that had already started, a crowd clearly following what, to me, sounded like a recipe for cerebral soup; equally impressive and baffling, like how grandparents are with smart TVs. I found the nearest corner to hide in and counted around a hundred guests. And then there was me, the only humanist at the party; sweaty and breathless and creeping in late.

So what was a humanist – a creative writer, associate lecturer and practice-led researcher, to be precise – doing at a tech-industry networking event?

Believe it or not, I wasn’t there by mistake. I was on a mission: to explore the vanguard of digital excellence and seek out the digital in Digital Humanities (DH). According to U.S. English Professor & Digital Humanist, Gerald R. Lucas, “DH stands at the intersection of art and science; it makes technology explicit in our understanding and interpretation of culture. DH makes clear that the humanities and technology are inseparable.” An instrumental concept then, and one that, until recently, had been totally absent in my world.

Turns out I’m not alone in this digital blindness. Considering our tendency to elevate scholarly endeavours over industry outputs – a trend that is explored by Zoe Bulaitis in her excellent 2017 article – it is surprising that so many humanists, myself included, are oblivious to Digital Humanities; the term, the area, the field. Are we ‘doing’ Digital Humanities, or DH, without actually realising it? Or is this a product of systematic technophobia? How had I navigated my entire doctorate without discovering or being introduced to this world? Just like Minecraft and Furbies, how had I missed yet another hot trend?

And it’s everywhere if you know where to look.

People are doing it in libraries. People are doing it in labs. They’re doing it in colleges and airports, cafés and pubs, museums and science parks, hotels… bedrooms. Anywhere there are people, actually, or even just web access. And only some of these folks are humanists, the rest aren’t even academics. Instead, we’re talking technologists, creative industries and start-up companies, volunteers at local heritage centres, or 3D design students combining physical and digital mediums.

And I only came across it by accident. Upon completing my PhD in December, life went from nursing an all-consuming word-baby, to chasing down indistinct whiffs of potential collaboration. A few months later, I came across the term Digital Humanities. It was mentioned in a job spec: This module will contain a particular focus on collaborative work, presentation skills and the Digital Humanities.

Upon learning of my deficit I reacted just like any other decent academic. I spent hours (and hours) stumbling through an electronic maze of links, videos and reports, I impulse-bought books, signed-up for vaguely relevant events, and I made an online survey. Mercifully – as any fresh-faced and contract-less PhD graduate would attest – such impassioned efforts have blossomed into PROJECTS.

As such, this article preempts a series that will examine the hopes and ambitions, fears and barriers, successes and shortcomings of everything DH. Although I maintain a primary focus on Creative Writing and the South-west UK, the survey – Hands Up for Digital Humanities – is open to input from any country, discipline or background, and so in taking the survey as the catalyst for all this, my research questions aim to be both extensive and comprehensive:

1.Do discrepancies exist between the current provision for DH at universities, in terms of space, equipment and expertise, and the interests / activities of students being expressed / conducted on-the-ground?

• What are the needs / interests of students? Is there a need that isn’t being met?
• Who is actually engaging with facilities when they are actually provided?
• How much of the student body feels their work would be/have been enhanced by increased digital focus?

2.What best practice guidelines can be set out by carrying out a review of DH provision in UK and international Higher Education environments?

• What are the top 3 UK universities for DH provision and engagement?
• How can we judge this?
• What are the first things individuals and institutions should implement to improve DH?

3.Where else is DH being ‘done’?

• What enterprises exist outside universities?
• How can activities be streamlined? What lessons can be shared?
• How can industry professionals and academics work together to strengthen DH practice?

4.What types of projects are DH departments working on and what percentage of these is related to English or Creative Writing?

• Who is involved in these projects?
• Is DH better suited to undergraduate or postgraduate study? Why?

5.How appropriate are DH resources for Creative Writing educators and practitioners?

• Is it a case of inaccessibility, or unsuitability?
• Are creative writers engaging with digital resources and if so, what are they producing?

6.What does the future look like for Digital Creative Writing?

• How does existing DH practice fit in with Creative Writing theory and pedagogy?
• How can better understanding of DH enhance scholarly opportunities for digital publishing?
• If engagement with DH is embedded as a fundamental element of English and Creative Writing research projects, in line with methodologies or outputs, could it ensure a more coherent career trajectory?

So far, the survey has had some fascinating responses from individuals across academia, industry and tourism, including views throughout the education and career spectrums. From undergrads and apprentices, to professors with experience of twenty-plus years, to even those ditching the desk in favour of code, circuits and science. In the forthcoming articles, I will outline some of the more surprising responses, and highlight some common issues already surfacing at this early stage. We will delve deeper into these issues as I conduct interviews, visit DH centres and labs, and hold workshops with Chatbots. What is emerging at the frontier of creative writing, interdisciplinary research and pioneering digital technologies? How can humanists and technologists combine digital interests and work better together to benefit others? Ultimately, the purpose of this investigation asks whether DH can positively impact wider society by improving quality of life, and if so, I intend to showcase realistic pathways for making this happen.

As for my first foray with Digital Plymouth, it was more successful and productive than I could have imagined. I met founder Garry Hunt, a WordPress specialist and freelance digital designer who works with TEDxPlymouthUniversity and Women In STEM Plymouth. I cornered Tony Edwards, an exuberant educator with Software Cornwall who was one of the speakers at the meet-up.

Digital Plymouth – Group selfie with Tony

Tony managed to make voice-recognition software accessible even to me. How did he do this? By performing rap, of course. And, as it happened, I wasn’t the only humanist at the party. There was a Plymouth University English undergrad with an incredible story. Lana Dalby has co-founded an app, especially for women. According to the website, Babble is a “safe-space where you can ask questions, be inspired, share knowledge and exchange experiences. Most importantly, it’s a platform where we women can support each other.”

Lana Dalby

Babble Smartphone app

So far, I have only had a subsequent meeting with Tony, catching-up with him the very next day – well, I did say ‘cornered’ – and hearing about his exciting collaborative work with Harvey’s Foundry Trust in Hayle, Cornwall. But we’ll learn more about that next time when I hope to feature all three Digital Plymouth members, showcasing their ground-breaking work at the borders of Industry and Academia; the exact site from which DH is seemingly emerging.

Academics have a reputational reluctance to engage with creative industries, an issue explored in-depth in that same 2017 article where Bulaitis highlights how academics’ defence of innate value placed on arts and humanities is met with “accusations of snobbery”. Despite this, I made relevant connections at Digital Plymouth with overwhelming speed. Is this testament to the output efficiency that creative industries are well-known for? Is it down to my individual talent for networking, my charm, my candid approach? Or should we be thanking these industry professionals who seem to be so welcoming and enthusiastic, so open to collaboration?

I don’t know. I’m a humanist. Surely that’s enough for now. Perhaps I’d better go lie down for a while and think about it.

Lauren Hayhurst

Take my survey: Are you connected to the Humanities? I need your help! I am researching the awareness and provision of Digital Humanities throughout Higher and Further Education settings. Please take my 10-minute survey – Hands Up for Digital Humanities! Your responses will help to highlight knowledge gaps and improve partnerships between academia and industry. Thank you so much.

If you are interested in receiving updates on this research, please email me at lahayhurst.writer@gmail.com or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/DrSmartlolly

You can find out more about me and my research at: http://eprofile.exeter.ac.uk/laurenhayhurst/